


Returning the Light and Fire

by Diary



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Canon Disabled Character, Conversations, Gen, Gen Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, POV Jaime Lannister, POV Male Character, Post - Red Wedding, Post-Episode: s03e09 The Rains of Castamere, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6347869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the red wedding, Jaime tries to comfort Brienne in his own Jaime-like way. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Returning the Light and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Game of Thrones.

“I’ve heard you have a godswood in this town. Is that true? Is it open to the public?”

As he asks the questions to a young barmaid, Brienne of Tarth finally deigns to give a reaction.

The fact the reaction is an exasperated and suspicious look is only to be expected.

“Yes, stranger,” the barmaid answers. “We have a sept, too, if your companion knight would like- I don’t mean to make assumptions, mind you, but most of the knights coming through worship the new.”

“I’m not a knight, but all the same, I thank you.” Looking at him, she adds in a harsher tone, “And you do not worship the old gods.”

“That’s alright, lady,” the barmaid assures her. “Whatever gods or god a person follows, sometimes, they just need a holy place to better receive them. Me mam was a silent sister. One day, a baby came out of a dead woman and was almost dead herself, but me mam took her to the House of Black and White. She wouldn’t let them give the babe a drink from the black cup. Instead, she just made her case that it wasn’t the baby’s time to die, and the gods answered.”

You were that baby, weren’t you, Jaime realises.

Before he can say anything, Brienne gives the girl a kind smile. “Your mother sounds very brave and kind.”

The barmaid smiles brightly. “Thank you, lady! I imagine she would have liked you. She liked listening to women with unconventional lives talk. If the two of you don’t mind waiting, I’ll be happy to take you both to the godswood and sept.”

“No, thank you,” he says. “We’re on a schedule. If you would just be kind enough to give us directions to the godswood.”

…

After getting directions, he has to deal with the predictable reactions of his escorts. Thankfully, Qyburn quiets them with, “Lady Brienne has done a fine job of protecting him, and she wishes his vow completed more than any of us.”

Before any of them can make a jape about his missing hand, he grabs her hand with his still present one and tugs. “Come, wench, we must be ready to leave by morning.”

Following him, she repeats, “You do not worship the old gods," and when they get a little further away, she quietly warns, “And if you in anyway deface the godswood, not even your name will be able-”

“I’m hurt,” he interjects. “Do you really believe I would do such a thing?”

Her expression betrays nothing.

“My father, perhaps. Tyrion, unlikely but not impossible. But me? I am an anointed knight, my lady, even if that girl unfairly applied my title to you.”

She doesn’t righteously and vigorously defend the girl or even point out anointed knights are more than capable of committing unholy acts, and he sighs. 

…

It’s empty when they arrive, and he groans as he kneels down.

She stands nearby with her face turned away.

Making sure his voice is loud enough, he says, “Your wife chose her sword well, Eddard Stark. This wench can turn loyalty to a fault. And just like you, she cares more about honour than anything else, including herself. Your wife and I know that she would have killed Walder Frey, Bolton, and all the other enemy knights or died trying in order to protect her and your son. But she doesn’t, and I don’t know how to convince her otherwise.”

He feels her eyes boring into him.

“Until I can help her fulfil the vow we made to your wife, I don’t feel it right to ask anything of Lady Stark. But neither of us made an such vows to you, so, I’m asking: Help me do something. If she wants to blame me and fight me once the girls are somewhere safe, so be it. If she wants to add Walder Frey and Roose Bolton among Stannis, fine. I just want the inconsolable grief to become more consolable.”

He stands up, and she all but drags him out.

When they come across a bench, she says, “If you have something to say to me, say it. Don’t make a mockery of-”

“I’m not making a mockery,” he says.

What he hopes Ned Stark heard but he was unwilling to speak aloud was, _I don’t love her as you loved your Cat, but like you, I’m stuck dealing with a strong, honest woman who was more-or-less forced to accept me, regardless of her feelings on the matter. Surely, you’ve had experience with seeing your wife hurt and placing the blame for her hurt unfairly on herself. Put aside all our old grievances and give me a sign on what to do._

“Tell me,” he continues, “if I had told you, ‘it’s not your fault’ and ‘she wouldn’t want you to blame yourself’, would you have listened?”

“Yes. I always listen to you, even when I’d rather not.”

Part of him is touched, but he nevertheless points out, “That’s hearing." He sits. "But fine, then. Would I have been able to make you believe me?”

“I won’t believe what I know to be a falsehood,” is her stubborn retort. “I should have been there to protect her.”

“As I said to Ned Stark, blame me if you must. My actions and those of my family are a large part of what started this war. She tasked you with escorting me. Even if Locke hadn’t taken us, you still wouldn’t have re-joined her in time for the wedding. Oh, yes, and let’s not forget that there’s a good chance my father had his hands in it happening. Do you want more? I suspected Bolton was up to something. Nothing like this, but something. And this is the first time I’m telling you.”

She gives him a weary look. “I’m sorry if you’re feeling guilty. You needn’t be.”

He refuses to believe he sputters. “This isn’t about me. _You_ needn’t be, is the point.”

She gives a sad headshake.

_Mother, Maid, or Crone, help me. Would that she were a bit more like Cersei._

“How am I absolved from blame but you’re not?”

“There’s much you aren’t absolved of and likely never will be,” she jabs. “But you aren’t responsible for the choices your father makes, and I had the same feeling of mistrust towards Bolton you had. I didn’t say anything, either.”

“You’re even less responsible for my father’s choices, and we both know that, if you’d even suspected Bolton was going to do any sort of harm to Catelyn Stark, you would have gone through him and every other man in his castle to prevent it.”

“You swore a vow to her in regards to her daughters. I swore a vow to _her_ ,” Brienne quietly says. “I was to shield her. I was to die for her, if necessary. And just like with Renly, I failed.”

“I hope to see you meet Ser Loras Tyrell someday,” he says. “Then, we’ll see which of you is truly to blame.”

“He holds no blame."

“No? Didn’t he love Renly, and didn’t he swear the same vows you did to protect, and if necessary, give his life?”

Giving him an irritated look, she says, “He wasn’t there."

“Where was he? I don’t believe I’ve ever asked that.”

She shrugs. “Renly ordered him to guard Queen Margaery while he talked to Lady Catelyn.”

“You can’t have it both ways, my lady,” he declares. “You can’t excuse every knight who was ordered to do something afar, and thus, unable to protect their charge, every parent who would have given their life for their child but wasn’t given such an opportunity, and so on, yet, insist on blaming yourself for not being able to protect Lady Catelyn when you were busy obeying her command to place her girl children above anything else.”

For a long moment, she simply stares at him.

“Why do you care how I feel?”

Words slip from his lips before he can stop them, and though he isn’t sorry for saying them, he knows she would have caused him great pain if he’d said them when they were near the godswood.

“Who says I do? You’ve become even more humourless and dull of late. I did occasionally enjoy having words with you, but there’s no fun in it now, with the way you simply refuse to respond.”

She gives him a contemplative look, and half of him prays she doesn’t challenge him, and the other half is going to be exasperated if she doesn’t.

He can explain away his convincing Locke not to have her raped and saving her from the bear pit. He can even defend going back in order to do the latter.

He’s not so sure, however, _I worry about what you might do after you get the Stark girls to safety if you keep this guilt within you,_ and, _Shortly before we heard of the red wedding, I honest-to-gods had you laughing,_ and, _She was right, you are a truer knight than I’ll ever be, and I might not be able to make you happy or guarantee that you’ll live to old age, but I would give you what little happiness and protection I’m able and keep you from believing untrue, hurtful things about yourself_ -

If it weren’t for how much he loves Cersei, he’d be worried such thoughts were indicative of something deeper than mere friendship and respect.

“We’d better get back,” she says. “I’d like to talk to that barmaid before we go.”

They begin walking, and feeling a tentative hope bloom, he offers, “You do know that she was the baby, don’t you?”

“What, the one born from the dead woman?” She gives him a sceptical look.

“Of course,” he answers. “How many silent sisters have children? Oh, I suppose some of the widows who join do, but even with that, did you see her skin? Yet, her accent had no trace of foreignness to it. Obviously, after saving the child, the silent sister took her as her daughter. She might have recanted her vows to do so.”

“An interesting thought,” she comments.

“You just want to avoid admitting my brilliance.”

“What brilliance? You put together an interesting theory, but without further proof-”

“Oh, gods, now you sound like a stuffy maester. Tell me, are you capable of getting through one conversation without boring the person you’re talking to?”

“Are you able to get through one conversation without your arrogant, demeaning nature shining through,” she hotly demands.

“Everything I do shines. And that, I believe my brother would say, is deflection on your part.”

“Obviously, I’m not boring enough. _You_ keep insisting on talking to me.”

He shrugs. “At first, it was just you, and now, it’s either you or Qyburn. I’d prefer to talk to someone I can trust.”

Looking over, she gives him a slight smile.

He’s utterly relieved to see the light and fire has returned to her astonishing eyes.


End file.
